Page 46 of Mortify

"Time to roll," Emil calls out.

I pocket my phone, pushing thoughts of Everly down deep.

I can't think about her now.

Can't let emotional shit cloud my judgment when bullets start flying.

But as I settle onto my bike, I make myself a promise.

Whatever happens tonight, I'm coming back to her.

To both of them.

The ride north is colder, November wind cutting through my leather like frozen knives.

All the bikes are in formation, engines announcing our arrival to anyone listening.

We're not trying for stealthy—we want the Patriot to know death's coming for him.

The formation's tight, practiced.

I ride on the left flank, keeping an eye on our six while we thunder down back roads.

The farther we get from town, the darker it gets.

There are no street lights out here, just the moon and our headlights cutting through the darkness.

My mind drifts to this morning, waking up with Everly pressed against me, her hand splayed over my chest.

She'd mumbled something about toast in her sleep, making me smile.

Even unconscious, the baby's got her craving carbs.

Focus, I tell myself.

I can't be thinking about domestic shit when violence is coming.

The farm appears through the darkness, lit up like they're expecting us.

Of course they are.

You don't survive as long as the Patriot has without good intel.

Someone tipped him off, or he's got surveillance we missed.

Doesn't matter. We're committed now.

We stop half a mile out and kill the engines.

The sudden silence feels heavy.

"Remember," Runes says through our comms, "we need their computer systems intact if possible. Tor thinks there's intel about his whole network."

"Got it," comes through multiple channels.

"And watch for civilians," he adds. "Intel says he might have women in there. Trafficking victims. Don't shoot unless you're sure of your target."

Fuck.

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